Perfume
by Not much a poet
Summary: Lisa meets her worst fear. Rated for violence, but if the rating needs to change, tell me. This is what happens when you play with parking lots and cyanideinfused Chanel.


It wasn't like she chose to be raped. It was the complete opposite, in fact. Thing was, she had just been a victim of yet another fact of life. She knew that there was a lot worse things that could have happened to someone, and just thinking that she deserved better made her feel quite selfish, to say the least.

She was driving her red Cleo one day, listening to the radio like she lived an ordinary life. I'm not being melodramatic here, but really; rape, almost murder after another death, gambling with lives? That's not exactly what I would call the good life, if you ask me. No, she had come home from work at about noon that day. Driving home, she knew that she had a staff party to attend that night (the Lux's 5th anniversary). Well, she would be, if it hadn't been for the fact that she didn't have anything to wear. Not only was she not the type to go out to parties that much, but the two dresses that she _did_ own weren't any use to her; one was still at the dry-cleaning (after her nephew had decided to see if the red from the dress and the purple from his juice would mix), and the other was now found to be far too small for her. Oh well, Murphy's Law, pure and simple. But why on today, of all days? So, she was now driving to the mall after raiding her closet for about twenty minutes. She was nearly there, but, as always, she had to follow her ritual that she always stuck to whenever going shopping. She had to park in a space that was out in the open; somewhere that everyone could see, and so, if anyone _did_ try to get her again, there weren't very many places for the rapist to hide himself and her behind. It had to be in full view of people (witnesses), and no other cars were allowed to be next to her.

Almost coincidently, she found a space immediately. For once today, she felt happy. To make sure that she got the place that she wanted, she sped right into the white-lined rectangle of happiness. She couldn't be bothered to reverse in (it just took too much time). Besides, if she was going to find a complete outfit for tonight _and_ make it back in time to get on with whatever she needed to do everyday, she would have to use her time wisely. Putting the hand break on, she took the keys out of their sockets, making the small, pink whale keychain on the end clang against the other keys noisily. She put them back in her purse hazily, and, likewise, got out of the car. She checked her watch; she had an hour and twenty minutes. So, half an hour to find the dress, fifty minutes to find matching shoes. Make-up was not an issue, as she had enough quantity and colors to last her the rest of her days (and possibly more).

She walked at a steady pace through the much-loathed parking lot. The heat that day was intense. It wasn't the hottest of days that she had experienced, but since she still had a lot of stress raging through her body, it felt all that much worse. Every step that she took, she felt nervous, no, petrified, that someone was going to grab her, pull her behind another car, and rape her there and then. And with every step that came after the last, the feeling increased by ten. She knew better than to feel safe; the last time that she did, look what happened. She had a scar to prove it, and a lost virginity as a bonus. She was going to save herself for her first husband. A lot of good that theory turned out to be…

Right in front of her, she could see the large glass doors of the wall, two palm trees either side of each. She was okay now. It was almost like your being chased by some otherworldly demon, only to finally come to a church. Your sanctuary.

She looked at the wooden map just inside of the doors. So, she had a thousand shops to choose from. Only one (possibly two) could give her what she wanted. Would she have a classy look? A party-girl look? What? All that she knew was, she wasn't going to turn up looking like some hooker. The other girls might, but not her; not the manager of the hotel itself.

☼†☼†

She came out of the mall twelve minutes over schedule. Fortunately, she wasn't angry with herself (she was just pissed off with the girls behind the counter, gossiping, as she stood in line). So, out into out of the icebox, and into the oven. Perfect. She slid her bags up her arms, and took hold of the cold handles of the doors. The whole thing was like a massive sheet of ice, a bridge from the coolness of the inside, to the heat of the outside.

She stepped out, feeling immediately that she should have stayed inside. She had completely forgotten her fears, only this time, her greatest fear of all was walking through the inferno of the car park, and into the volcano that was the car. Why hadn't she chosen a car that was white? Or even blue, for that matter… Anyway, she could do anything now. She just had to take a deep breath, and tolerate it.

All in all, it took her forty-seven steps to get to the car, which added up to five minutes, as she trudged through the (quite literally) unbearable heat. She had a job to get to the trunk, since a red and a blue car had decided to park extremely close to her own. She finally squeezed through the small gap that the blue car had left, and she put her bags inside the car.

She couldn't do this.

She leant back onto the trunk door lazily, just staying still in the heat, resting the tired body. She closed her eyes…

'Miss!' She heard from behind the other side of the other red car... She turned and opened her eyes. It was the perfume guy from the mall. He had been wanting her to try his perfume for two whole minutes, before she hurried on her way. He hadn't followed her, until now. There he was; black suit, slicked-back hair, clammy hands resting shakily on the clear glass bottle.

'Sir, I really have to get home now. I've got a lot to do, and…' She tried to say (unknowingly using the same attitude that she did for work), but he cut her off with yet another excuse.

'Please Miss. I promise I won't bug you again…'

Did he really want her to try it all that badly? She looked at him.

'Just one spritze, that's all I'm asking…' He smiled, his other hand coming up like he was at gun-point.

She really felt like punching him; he was like the younger brother that wanted you to try the seemingly innocent cake that he had made for you, only to have baked a couple dozen worms inside. Oh well, what was the harm in getting him off her back? It wasn't like there was any harm in it, was there now? She walked around the back of the two cars towards him. Holding out her wrist, he took it gently (like he was trained to do so), and held the bottle so that the spray that came out hit her centre vein directly. She took her arm back, rubbing her wrist with the other. Taking it all in, she found that it smelt just like the perfume that she had received from her father's long-term girlfriend a few weeks back. She had said that it was all the range, but it was far too heavy for Lisa. The scent now hit her like a flow of bees that were carrying the pollen of the world's best flower with them.

'Yeah, it's a bit too heavy for me…' She honestly said to him, smiling as she turned back to her car. She took a step forward. Then another. Then another. Soon, each step felt like she was carrying cinder blocks on each one. Each step became heavier and heavier, until she couldn't take it any more. She felt like she had become the cruel victim of an urban legend. She instantly fell to the ground, like the dead weight that she was. Face first, her body fell with a flump. Her nose bled from the impact of the hot concrete and the hardness of her face-bones. She would have taken action, she really should have, but currently, she was unconscious.

The man walked up beside her;

'Mr. Rippner told me _exactly_ what to do. He made his directions very clear…'

He squatted down beside her (which just so happened to be behind one of the cars). With that, he reached for his face. He pulled at the latex skin, but drew it back, knowing that it would be better if he kept his identity a secret. The hand then made its way to the inside of his jacket. He pulled it back, revealing a large knife. A K-A Bar, to be precise.

He let out a smile, as he lowered the knife to her ear. He turned the body round to face him, and then started what he was going to do.

He took the hand that had the perfume first sprayed on. He cut the vein that was now sticking out from the intensity of the heat. Blood poured like the wine that he had spilt last night. It flowed around her body, as if a cushion on which she was laying on. He put the arm back, taking the other arm after, doing the exact same thing to it. When he had finished, he went back to deciding what to do next. He decided to go for the body. As he went for it, he pulled back suddenly, knowing that if he did what he was going to do, blood would find its way onto his freshly dry-cleaned suit. So, he went for the face first.

'I really _am_ sorry for this…' He smirked sarcastically, pouting as he did so. With that, he kissed her rough, dry lips. It wasn't exactly what you would call a 'kiss', but it worked for the sake of the situation.

'Oh, but Lisa! You're not wearing lipstick! Can't have that, can we?'

He took the left wrist and took a good amount of blood onto his thumb. He brought it up to her lips, and started to smear. When he was done, it was almost like she was wearing lipstick. He brought his thumb up to his own mouth, and licked the remainder of the liquid off of it.

'There. Much better…' He grinned to himself, almost sadistically.

To undo all of his hard work, the next move that he made was to cut at the lips, drizzling the blood from the sharp steel onto her cheek after doing so. He took up quite some time in doing this task; he applied every small detail to wherever his sick mind had thought that it should be, and he wasn't exactly the type to take any breaks until he was done with any job. The thing was, this wasn't a 'job', per se; this was just something to do in his free time.

He moved back to the upper torso. Without even worrying about messing up her new (which he was fully aware of) designer blouse, he closed his eyes and let the knife go to wherever fate took it. It finally fell just underneath her left breast, which was the first place that he started to hack at. Without going into too much detail, he finished the entire body in less than five minutes. He was, after all, a very skilled kind of man. He was the one that studied anatomy at college; he was the one that had chosen the right path in life. And he was the one that was the only one that deserved to do this to the very woman that he was leaning over.

He was about to stand up, when his eyes caught something; a piece of the top that wasn't cut into. Using his knife (again), and just to give whoever found it the impression that he was not, in fact, a pervert, he cut the remaining flesh away through the material. He took it when it was loose and held it in his hands, before sliding away the blue cotton lid that was covering the skin beneath. He had then found, in the space of two second, that he was now holding his trophy. Wrapping it in another piece of torn blue velvet, he made sure that it wouldn't bleed through his jacket pocket, before laying it inside.

Finally, he stood up, admiring the work of a true craftsman. From what he had seen before and now, he had truly lived up to his name. He smiled to himself, as if it was his 'job-well-done' console.

☺††††☼☺

Sitting in his car, all ready to go, he took the piece of flesh from his pocket once again. He then took the latex mask from his face, revealing his true colors. He then gave a final smirk at the last piece of Lisa Henrietta Reisert that would ever see him; the scar that she had suffered all those years back from the last time that she willingly and without fear came into a parking lot.

'Told you I'd steal you one day…' Jackson Rippner smiled to Lisa's mutilation.

And he knew that no one was ever going to figure out who had done the deed. After all, 'Jackson Rippner' had died from the gunshot fired by Lisa's father six months back.

Six months. Six days. And six hours ago.

**A/N: I'm really sick, aren't I? Oh well. This is what you get when you watch the Urban legends show. And when you're bored, and fuelled with coffee, whilst hiding in your home from the hair-thieves…**


End file.
